Privet
As I left the van my memory was pierced;
the scent was so very familiar...
It didn't rival jasmine or gardenia,
yet it held a stirring effect on my senses.
I was suddenly 7 years old in the alley way.
I was riding a go-cart,
made with the young hands of my brother and I;
the wheels were off a baby carriage, ours…
So quick from carriage to go- cart...
Then from go-cart to van;
we would push that wooden cart up and down that alley;
Giggling and trotting in magic movements...
The privet was hanging and hovering in the air, the air of my youth...
Who knew the power that little white cluster would have;
the power to pull me back a half century, from just a whiff...
© Joseph James
7/2/15
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